Chapter 5 - The Notice They Never Expected
One week after the false CPS report, the desert sun was setting over Phoenix, painting the sky in brilliant shades of amber, violet, and burnt orange.
I was sitting at my kitchen island, helping Maisie glue pink paper petals onto a construction-paper sunflower, when my phone chimed with a high-priority calendar alert.
Certified mail delivery confirmation: Delivered to Beverly Winters, 4128 Saguaro Ridge Dr.
Almost simultaneously, my phone began ringing.
It wasn't Beverly this time. It wasn't Joanna.
It was an unfamiliar landline originating from a law firm downtown.
I pressed speakerphone so I could continue holding the glue stick for Maisie, and swiped to answer.
“Ms. Vance?” a cold, formal male voice inquired.
“Yes, speaking.”
“Ms. Vance, my name is Attorney Marcus Vance—no relation, I assure you—representing Beverly Winters and Joanna Sterling. We received an emergency notification this afternoon regarding a series of legal filings initiated by your forensic accounting team, alongside notices of asset freezing from the Arizona Superior Court and an official inquiry from the state tax division.”
I kept my voice perfectly level, maintaining absolute, unshakeable composure.
“I am well aware of the filings, counselor.”
“Ms. Vance, my clients are in a state of absolute shock,” the attorney stammered, his professional composure cracking slightly under the weight of the emergency paperwork. “You’ve frozen their primary accounts, initiated a tax fraud audit, and filed a civil suit demanding the return of over six hundred thousand dollars in fraudulently obtained disbursements over the last five years! Mrs. Winters is threatening an emergency injunction, claiming elder financial abuse—”
“Your clients committed systematic financial fraud under false pretenses, Counsel,” I interrupted smoothly, my tone as cold as ice. “They lied about mortgages, fabricated household emergencies, and systematically looted my business accounts while using my own financial support to terrorize my five-year-old daughter and file malicious, false child abuse reports with state authorities.”
A heavy silence hung on the other end of the line.
“They... they what?” the attorney muttered, clearly having been kept entirely in the dark about my family’s psychopathic extracurricular activities.
“You might want to review the police reports from our local precinct before you take them on as permanent clients,” I advised evenly. “Tell my mother and sister that the gravy train has permanently left the station. If they attempt to contact me, my daughter, or my legal counsel ever again, we will press criminal fraud charges to the absolute fullest extent of the law. Have a pleasant evening.”
I tapped the red end-call button, cutting the lawyer off mid-sentence.
Maisie looked up from her paper sunflower, her hazel eyes wide and bright.
“Mommy, is everything okay?” she asked softly, tilting her head.
May you like
I smiled, leaned over, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, inhaling the sweet, innocent scent of her shampoo.
“Everything is more than okay, sweet girl,” I whispered, looking out the window toward the bright, wide-open desert horizon where the stars were just beginning to blink into existence. “The storm has passed. And we are finally, truly safe.”
